And Recks Not His Own Rede
by Madam'zelleG
Summary: When a father's son is threatened by a potential kidnapper, Watson hearkens back to a modern-day Ophelia who visited his surgery. Two-shot. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**I didn't actually intend for this to be long enough to be a two-shot, but here we are! Part two coming soon!**

* * *

 _Part One: They say the owl was a baker's daughter._

It was on a rainy afternoon in mid-April that I found a rather strange-looking couple appear on the doorstep to my surgery. It had been a peaceful day, admirable for catching up on the mountain of work I'd found piling up in recent weeks. I sat at my desk musing through a leaflet on the subject of remedies for overwork when my secretary came to the door.

"A Mr. Hodges to see you, Doctor," said she. Ms. Meadowes was a smart-looking young girl, good with the records if a tad wanting in punctuality. If one wanted a girl to guard one's office from sporadic drop-ins, she certainly wasn't it. At that moment, however, I simply nodded.

As she admitted my patients, I found myself faced with a rather fine gentlemen, coat pressed, hat perfectly straight, and by contrast, a very bedraggled young woman with hair disheveled around her face and apparently having been forced into the fine dress that she wore, for a few buttons appeared to hang loose on their threads. I wondered what Holmes would have made of the pair.

The young man came forward, his manner brisk and business-like. "I wish for you to examine my sister," said he, passing a hand in her direction. "Following the birth of my nephew, you see, she's become subject to rather extreme fits of melancholy and hysteria. I hardly need tell you it is an unhealthy environment for an infant."

"No, indeed," I replied. "Perhaps you'd be good enough to let me conduct my examination in private?"

The brother considered this before casting a glance at the young woman who still stood in the doorway. "I trust you won't be long?"

"I trust not, but you understand that I must be thorough in my work."

"Of course, Doctor."

Having nudged the girl out of the way, he exited the examination room and closed the door smartly behind. The young woman, whose name I gathered was Elsie, stood where she had been unceremoniously pushed. With her lank hair escaping from her pins and her threadbare shawl hung loose around her shoulders, I couldn't escape the fact that she resembled a rather unkempt Ophelia. _Where is the beauteous Majesty of Denmark_ , I could not help wondering as I extended my hand to lead her forward.

She came towards me like a child, shuffling forward with her head down as though she expected me to strike her. Having seated her, I knelt before her to take her hand in mine, feeling for her pulse. From this angle, if I looked up, I could see her face—the dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes, the hollowness in her cheeks. I could feel her life fluttering in her wrist, as though a caged bird were trying to escape.

Elsie had not spoken a single word since her brother had led her into my rooms. So when I sought to question her, it was unsurprising to have little answer from her. Slowly, I could see the fear in her eyes change from flame to flickering lights, her breathing slowing. The answers were simple. No, she did not sleep. No, she could not eat. No, she could not see her child. As I rose to retrieve my notebook, I was distinctly surprised to hear her mumble what was to be the first and only full sentence of our time together.

"It's like I feel everything and nothing for him." Her eyes were downcast again and any hope of retrieving her from the shell she'd created was gone, though I did not cease in my prodding.

A short while later, I called her brother to rejoin us. I sat behind my own desk as he approached, watching his eyes never quite flitting upon her.

"Well, Doctor?" he asked in a clipped, no-nonsense tone.

"It's my professional opinion that your sister is under a great deal of nervous strain following the birth of her child."

He snorted. "You say that as though it is news to me."

"Mr. Hodges, you asked for my professional opinion and that is what I am giving you," I said. "If you please."

The man stood before my desk and I gestured towards an empty chair next to his sister, but he refused. "My apologies."

"If what you say is true and her demeanor is much changed following childbearing, I would recommend a complete rest. This condition is not unusual and often resolves itself with time and care. Perhaps a trip to the country-"

"So you're in agreement with me, Doctor?" he interrupted, eyes cold. "You would agree that my sister is not sane at the present moment."

I cleared my throat and closed my notebook. "Not in so many words."

"But you've just told me she suffers from insanity, the same as her mother before her. The curse that follows all women of her kind."

"It is only temporary, given time," I repeated. "One would say a year at most."

He was silent now. "I would like you to sign a paper to that effect," said he. At my expectant look, a smile came over him. "You see, my sister's husband does not understand the delicacies of the female nature. He is as worried as I, and yet he was unable to come today to meet with you. I should like very much to be able to put his mind at ease. A note from the doctor detailing her symptoms and recommended course of treatment…"

"That is not my normal way of operations, unless I am referring my patient elsewhere," I returned. "If it pleases you both, I am more than happy to take on her case. If it's a question of money-"

"No, no, not money at all." His hand waved in the air as though grasping for something. "My brother-in-law is a stubborn man. He will not agree to just anyone seeing his wife. I daresay he will not be happy to hear that we have come to visit you today. So I am asked for the information that I need to convince him that she needs help."

I paused for a moment before picking up my prescription pad. "Please, inform your brother-in-law that my services are available to him and his wife whenever needed. I shall write down what I have observed today and what I recommend, as you have requested."

When he looked quite jovial at my words, I felt compelled to remark, "But I beg of you to remember that I am doing this against my better judgment. It is to help your sister, not for any other reason."

"Understood, Doctor."

Having scrawled my notes upon a pad of paper and signed it, I tore it from my little book and handed it to him. "I do hope to be seeing both of you again soon."

"I hope so too, Doctor Watson." He took his sister by the elbow and slowly brought her up standing next to him. "You've been very helpful. Thank you so much for your time."

I bad them both farewell and closed the door to my surgery behind them. _Could beauty… have better commerce than with honesty?_ I offered a silent prayer for my little Ophelia.

* * *

It was some months later that I found myself on the steps of 221B. Holmes had sent a message round the surgery the day before, asking me to come and sup with him. In those days, I found that I rarely seemed able to spend time with my old friend, and therefore relished the opportunity.

Upon my arrival at Baker Street, I was surprised to see that there appeared no sign of Mrs. Hudson. Indeed, my knock upon the door went unanswered and I was forced to retrieve my key from a spare pocket in my overcoat. Upon entering the flat, I made my way upstairs to my old rooms to see Holmes sitting before the fire, his pipe clasped in one fist, looking intently at a rather weary middle-aged man. Having not expected a client, but knowing better than to be surprised, I bid them both hello as I removed my outerwear and sat down upon the settee.

"Oh, now, Mr. Blaser, may I introduce my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson," spoke Holmes, not having taken his eyes off the man. "I can assure you that whatever you may say to me, he will keep in the strictest confidence."

I nodded, taking in his sleep-deprived eyes and sallow skin. He appeared to be approaching his mid-50s, his face beginning to crack where it was not covered by the scraggly shadow of his impending beard. He wrung his hands together as though he expected to be holding some sort of object; I surmised the crumpled piece of paper upon my friend's lap had been turned round and round. "Good evening, Mr. Blaser."

"Pray continue, sir." Holmes handed me the crumped up piece of paper. "You say that you have received a letter threatening your infant son and that you fear for his safety. I am compelled to ask what you think it is that I will be able to do to assist you."

Mr. Blaser coughed and shifted in his seat. "Well, Mr. Holmes, I must confess myself at a loss. I cannot think who it is has anything against my family. I am not a wealthy man. I have nothing to offer them; indeed, it is not money that they've asked for, as you saw."

Holmes was silent as I examined the paper. It had become so creased that I was unable to fully read the words that had been penciled in and subsequently smudged, whether accidentally or on purpose.

 _If you do not help… have no choice… Your boy's… numbered… soon. He's hurt… them. Do… what I can._

As I finished reading, Holmes looked at me expectantly and I returned with a shrug. "I cannot say that I can see much of a motive here myself," I addressed our visitor. "Can you perhaps expound on your tale?"

His eyes cast up at the ceiling as though searching for the answer to an exam. "I raise my son alone. Or at least with the help of a hired nanny. He's nearly 11 months old. He's not hurt a soul in his lifetime."

"I hardly think the morality of your son was in question," said Holmes dryly. He stood, took another puff upon his pipe and took up a stance at the mantel. "You say that you parent the boy alone. The boy's mother?"

"Indisposed," he spoke after a brief pause. "Her health has made it impossible for her to live with us for the time being and she rests at the seaside for the time being. I have every reason to believe that she'll return home to us in the next few months. But for the meantime, yes, Isaiah has become my sole responsibility. I chose the woman who attends to his needs and I keep in contact where I can. However, I spend much of my time traveling abroad for my work, and therefore, the two of them are often left to their own devices in the London home."

"Yes, I see that. I would imagine that a mate such as yourself upon a trade ship would spend very little time in one's own home port. You see, you surely spend a great time upon a merchant vessel, as given by your tanned skin, the way that it's formed around the uniform of a first mate. Your hands do not suggest a great deal of manual labor, nor do your choice of clothes suggest that you are so wealthy as to be called captain on that same vessel." Holmes shrugged and exhaled deeply, eyes absently following the cloud of smoke.

Mr. Blaser looked caught between astonishment and weariness as he finally dropped his head and rubbed his eyes. "I'm at a loss, Mr. Holmes."

"Can you think of anyone who might have a grudge against you or your family? Against your wife, perhaps, or any of your other children?" I asked, coming over to lay a hand on his sagging shoulders. He looked so downtrodden and I caught his back hitch with a gasping breath. Holmes nodded as I turned to pour a whiskey from the sideboard.

"My wife and I lived a quiet life," said he, his voice muffled slightly in his hands. "Isaiah is our only child. As I told you, my wife has not lived with us for a time after his birth. I thought it was important she recover fully before interacting with him. I cannot think of anyone who'd wish her ill or our child. She's the kindest, gentlest soul you ever laid eyes on." He accepted the glass that I set on the table next to him and gulped it down quickly and efficiently before wiping his mouth delicately on his handkerchief.

"To come to the point then, Mr. Blaser." Holmes spoke with slight irritation. "You received this letter when, yesterday morn?"

"That's right."

"And it threatens that the child will disappear on Friday. What is today, Watson?"

"Wednesday," I replied.

"Then we still have plenty of time to ensure the child's safety." Holmes laid his pipe aside and went to his cabinet, rifling through a drawer.

"Does that not do us no good, Mr. Holmes?" he spoke slowly, as though tripping over his own words. "Even if the child is well and at home on Friday evening, what's to stop the man from trying again? I have no idea what he wants; I will never be able to give him what he feels he needs. Surely his need for vengeance will continue until he's either satisfied or caught."

"Mr. Blaser, please." Holmes put one hand in the air, not looking up from his search. "I can only offer you my help one problem at a time if you have no more information to give me."

He considered for a moment and then shook his head. "Nothing more that I can think of, Mr. Holmes."

"I wish to speak to your wife, if that's convenient. Perhaps you could write her address down; Watson will provide you with paper."

At that, he stiffened. "As I told you before, sir, my wife is indisposed at the moment. No guests may be accepted to see her. It upsets her, you see. I will write down my own address and expect you to call upon me instead. I'm sure you and I will be able to come to an arrangement in order to make certain that my son is safe until we can catch this madman."

Holmes whipped around and stared at him, his face mildly curious. "Why have you come to me and not straight to the police?" he asked. "I feel certain that you have not bothered to try and contact them and I confess myself curious. Could it be that you do indeed know more than you're telling me?"

I had by now found the promised leaf of paper and set it in front of the man. He took the pen from me and scribbled an address down, located a few miles from Bake Street. "Mr. Holmes, you do forget yourself. If you can assist me in keeping my child safe on Friday, please call upon me at this address. If you cannot, send word and I will find some other way of ensuring that he remains safe."

"I expect that you'll keep him close in the meantime," said Holmes. "Perhaps the nurse you employ will also be useful."

He stood now and picked up his hat and coat from where he'd lain it on the back of a chair, the result of Mrs. Hudson not caring for our guest. "Thank you very much, I'm sure," said he, moving to open the door and go down the stairs.

"I'm very sure we'll be in touch," called Holmes, having returned to his filing cabinet. The door slammed behind Mr. Blaser and he considered the piece of paper, the note, which the man had left behind. Then he slammed the cabinet shut and returned to his place before the fire. "Watson, bring me the tobacco slipper, if you will."

The slipper retrieved and the pipe filled, he settled back into the chair and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry to have not given you any warning, but the man appeared at my doorstep an hour ago and I found myself most curious."

"Quite all right, Holmes." I sat back down as well. "A new case is always welcome."

"Please do send Mary my regards," he said, as though he'd just remembered. "Forgive me for taking you from her. I see you've been very seldom home at a reasonable hour in the past week."

"Will you be needing me for your excursion to Piccadilly come Friday?"

He considered, rubbing his chin with the tip of his pipe. "I'm loathe to leave the safety of a small child to chance, even if I do disagree with the merits of his father. Whatever else the family has done, the child is not to be blamed."

"Do you have a plan then?" I asked.

"For keeping the boy safe, little is needed if the aspiring kidnapper wishes to remain anonymous. It is the time afterwards that makes me anxious for his wellbeing." He reached out in my direction, which I took to mean he wished the note to be placed back in his hand. He stared at the smudges for a time. "I don't think Mr. Blaser wished for us to know the full contents of this letter. Perhaps they're more incriminating than he realises."

"Does it really matter, though? Will you be able to resurrect anything from that text?" I trusted I knew the answer before I asked the question.

"I have no doubt, Watson. But it is late, and I can see that you came prepared to sup. As you've no doubt seen, Mrs. Hudson is out and we will be forced to fend for ourselves in our repast. I'm sure you'll have no objection to dinner at Marcini's while we discuss far more interesting fare than this case. It will wait for our reunion on Friday."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Comments always treasured.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Part 2:_

 _But, good my brother,_  
 _Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,_  
 _Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,_  
 _Whiles, like a puffed and reckless libertine,_  
 _Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads_  
 _And recks not his own rede._

* * *

My curiosity was piqued by the strange man's ransom note, and so it was that on Friday morning, I met Holmes outside of Baker Street. Hailing a hansom, we hurried along towards the Blaser home, Holmes grumbling under his breath at the earliness of the hour.

Upon our arrival, we found ourselves in a quiet street, scattered here and there with men and women gathered around the lampposts. It was uncomfortably warm, despite the earliness of the hour. We knocked on the door of the address that had been given us, but needn't have, as the door was already partially ajar.

Upon our arrival upstairs in the proper flat, we pushed open the door and entered through the kitchen into what I judged to be the nursery. It was small, but well-lit from a series of tightly bolted windows looking over the street below. A small boy lay on his front in the middle of the room, grasping at a toy horse which he made gallop to and fro in front of him, appearing to chuff under his breath in amusement. Next to him sat a plump young woman, her red hair neatly coiffured and dress well pressed. She looked up at our entrance from the letter that was in her hand; upon realizing who we were, the letter dropped onto the table beside her and she rose to greet us, having some difficulty in getting to her feet due to what appeared to be dizziness.

"Mr. Holmes, I presume?" she asked as Holmes removed a glove in a smooth motion and shook her hand. "I'm Miss Dalrymple. It's so good of you to come."

"Pardon the early hour, but we felt it imperative that we come at once, so as not to waste a single moment." Holmes removed his other glove and put it into his overcoat pocket.

"I do apologize that there was no one to take your coat," said she, stretching out her hands in order to take both our garments. "Mr. Blaser spares no expense for his son, but I'm afraid staff are out of the question for the moment."

"It's no trouble at all," I assured her.

"Is the door through the kitchen the only entrance to this flat?" asked Holmes, sidestepping around a polished rocking horse in the middle of the floor to look out the window over the street.

"Yes, the only way in or out." Miss Dalrymple laid our coats over the back of an armchair that sat next to a child-sized bed in the corner. She blushed and cleared her throat. "We only moved to this residence after Isaiah was born. I'm sure that you can see it was not originally designed to be lived in. The landlord likes to make the most of his space, you see, and Mr. Blaser is admirably thrifty."

"So I've seen." Holmes continued to stare out the window. "And where is the master of the house today?"

"I have no doubt that he'll be back soon." She looked noticeably uncomfortable as she spoke. "He went out last night and has not returned."

"And is that unusual for him?" I knelt down on the floor next to the child and patted his blond head, which he hardly seemed to take any notice of, so absorbed was he in his playtime.

She flinched before letting her shoulders drop. "Not that unusual nowadays, sir," she said. "But I can't say much about that. I daresay he wasn't expecting you until later."

At that moment, I heard a key jangle in the lock outside as it was forced to turn against its will. A drunken swear came out before a man's voice cried out, "Mary! Open this door!"

"Excuse me, gentlemen."

As she hurried out through the door to the kitchen, Holmes turned to survey the room once more. It was no bigger than what had been my bedroom in Baker Street, and yet appeared to be the only place that the child had to sleep. A pair of doors on the opposite side of the room appeared to harken to two bedrooms, if I was not mistaken, and that appeared to be the bulk of the room. Apart from the toys that were scattered about the place, two armchairs, a table with three chairs, and a small bed were all that furnished the place.

"He does not strike me as a particularly ransom-worthy target," I remarked, listening to Mr. Blaser and Miss Dalrymple's half-shouted conversation in the next room. "Not when there are surely dozens of other families one might threaten if you wanted to make a few pounds."

"Now what you must remember, Watson, is the fact that there have been no ransom demands made," said Holmes, taking up a perch on the wide windowsill. "Mr. Blaser appears to be an unpopular man; we already know he drinks and lives most of his life at sea. Perhaps he's created enemies."

"Enemies who wish to harm a child?"

I was interrupted by the door from the kitchen banging open and Mr. Blaser and Miss Dalrymple's rather loud entrance.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Mr. Blaser did not appear to be the same man who had visited Baker Street a few days before; indeed, he appeared to have gotten more ill. His red-rimmed eyes flashed in confusion in the early morning sunlight that streamed into the room. "I was not expecting you to have arrived quite yet. As you can see, we're not really prepared for visitors."

Holmes drank in his appearance without speaking before turning his attention back to the window. I got to my feet slowly, my leg giving some protest. "Pardon the earliness of the hour," said I, "But crime seldom keeps office hours."

"I suppose not." Mr. Blaser crossed the room to his bedroom and laid a hand on the doorknob. "If you'll excuse me for a moment, gentlemen."

Left alone in the room, Miss Dalrymple cleared her throat once more. "May I offer either of you a cup of tea?" she asked, as though unsure what else to say.

"Ah, no, thank you. Perhaps you can shed a bit more light on the subject of the ransom note?" I cast around for a moment, half expecting to find the crumpled piece of paper in my pocket. Holmes held it up in the air for a moment before returning it to his own pocket.

"I'm sure I couldn't say, sir."

"Do you perhaps know where the boy's mother is to be found?" I asked. "Mr. Blaser was a bit vague on that subject." I cast a hand towards the chair that was free of overcoats.

She sat down gratefully, watching her charge roll around on the floor. "I never met her," she said. "By the time I was brought on, she had gone away."

"Oh, I had assumed that perhaps she had interviewed you before her departure."

Miss Dalrymple shook her head. "I answered an advertisement in the paper. Live-in nanny for one newborn. I did not know Mr. Blaser was alone until taking the position."

"And has it worked well for your standards?"

Her eyes met mine for a moment before returning to the child. "I suppose so. Mr. Blaser is seldom home and he makes sure that the bills are paid and that Isaiah has everything that he needs. I don't know what more I could ask for."

The door to the bedroom opened again and Mr. Blaser came out, having changed into a clean shirt and apparently washed his face, though it remained unshaven. He stood behind Miss Dalrymple's chair and I saw for a fleeting moment that his hand brushed the top of her head and the tip of her ear before he straightened and addressed the two of us. She just barely flinched under his touch.

"I'm not sure what more you'll be able to do, gentlemen. I've given that letter a great deal of thought and perhaps it will be better for me to simply go to the police rather than trouble you."

Holmes in that moment sprang to his feet and moved over to snatch his coat from the chair. "I suppose that I've heard enough then, Mr. Blaser," said he. Donning the coat, he gave one more look out the window and then bad me to follow him. "I trust you'll mention my name to Inspector Gregson when you phone Scotland Yard?"

"Mr. Holmes, that's not what I meant to say!" The note of panic in his voice surprised me and I slowed as I thrust one arm into the sleeve of my overcoat. "You've seen where I live; you must know that I will never be able to afford the police."

"I think, Mr. Blaser, that I can guarantee the safety of your child without my presence," said Holmes dryly. He swept his hat upon his head. "There's little more I will do here. Come, Watson. I must apologize for raising you at this early hour."

I blinked in astonishment. "But Holmes, surely-"

"Come, Watson."

* * *

Our arrival at Baker Street was imminent, and Mrs. Hudson let us in with some surprise. Holmes' penchant for becoming a creature of the night was not unusual, but my own presence tended to be confined almost entirely to the old days.

"I apologize again, Watson, for the earliness of the hour."

"Never mind that, Holmes, what about the boy?" I tossed my hat upon the table and ran a hand absently across my brow. "You're leaving him in a great deal of danger simply because you don't care for the father."

"Danger is a very relative word in this instance, Watson." He lit his pipe. "I perhaps might have agreed with you yesterday, but knowing the identity of the kidnapper, I feel confident that the child will be in safer hands."

"You astonish me, Holmes."

He turned to face me. "There is one person only who will gain from the disappearance of the child and that is the mother."

"The mother? But she's not even in London. Mr. Blaser himself told us that she was at the seaside on a long rest after illness brought on by the birth of her child."

"And I put it to you, Watson, that the mother was standing on the street in the road below the flat the entire time we were there."

I scoffed. "Now how can you be sure that any woman you saw lingering was the mother?"

He chuckled and pulled the crumpled note from his pocket. "Writing like this always leaves a mark, my friend. If you'll observe, you'll see that I have transcribed what I was able to resurrect from the page, for the writer pressed down with a very frenzied hand." He produced a second piece of paper and waved it in front of me mischievously. "You'll find within this note, if you care to look, it wasn't a ransom note at all. Indeed, the mother was anxious to be returned to her family home, against the will of the father."

Holmes handed me the freshly translated, which I skimmed for a moment, hardly taking in the words. I looked up in astonishment, something having stirred in my memory. "Do you mean to tell me that the mother…" I trailed off, feeling a pang in my chest. "Holmes, I have seen the mother before, and the writer of this letter as well. I would stake my life on it."

"I find that very interesting, Watson. Might I suggest that this man, Robert, asked you to treat the lady in question? I suppose you have no way of knowing that the young lady's husband would use your medical advice to have her thrown into Bedlam."

"She was suffering from postpartum distress. It was my wish that she be treated in my office. She was with her brother-"

"Ah, so he was the brother. Yes, I can see that now. Yes, I suppose that he was trying to convince the husband to take responsibility, but he considered it simpler to lock her away. All it takes is the word of a physician to say that she suffers from a hint of madness and even a man like him would be able to get her admitted."

"But why would he want to have his wife committed?" I asked in horror. "That was never a part of my recommendation of treatment."

"I'm certain that you noticed the show of affection between the charming young nurse and the father here. It's impossible that they were not acquainted before the admittance of Mrs. Blaser. How long ago was it that they came to you?"

"No more than five months ago."

"And as I'm sure you noticed, Miss Dalrymple has begun to show." He cleared his throat delicately. "The mother discovered the affair between her husband and a wayward woman from elsewhere. I believe a man like you, Watson, would phrase it as her heart having been broken. It's the easiest thing in the world to have a woman committed to Bedlam at a doctor's recommendation."

I was silent, knowing full well that the words Bethlem did not have to appear in any note of recommendation for it to be enough. "I cannot believe that they involved me in such a scheme."

"I do not think it was the brother's idea to have his sister committed, if that's what you're thinking. I do think that he came to you to try to help her, but one might say that it was thrown into his face. Indeed, the woman I saw today was accompanied by a personable-looking young man. I put it to you that the pair simply wished to get the child back and away from the father and that woman."

"Do you think that they will succeed in getting their hands on him?"

"I do indeed. The brother clearly has means to support them both. I expect you did not notice the fact that I was able to slip him a piece of paper suggesting that they wait til the morrow to do the deed."

"You don't think that they'll actually call the police?" I asked.

He snorted and puffed on his pipe. "A man like that? I would be very surprised." He clapped his hands together then and sat down to the breakfast that Mrs. Hudson had just laid out. "Mark my words, Watson. The brother getting his sister released from that institution was only the first step. I put it to you that if you go tomorrow to the address provided to your young secretary by the man who visited you, you will see the boy in a much happier place."

I shook my head at Holmes and sat down across from him. "You really are a wonder, Holmes."

"I trust I'm not putting you out of a day's work at the surgery? It's still quite early."

"I'm sure I'll manage, Holmes."

* * *

It only remains for me to tell you, dear reader, that I followed Holmes' suggestion and the next morning, when Mary and I were out for a stroll, we happened upon the house of Mr. Hodges. And in the garden, a weary but joyful woman sat in the grass next to the small boy who'd incorporated the flat.


End file.
